


Falling Together

by alliebird58



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feelings, Porn with Feelings, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:11:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8133265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alliebird58/pseuds/alliebird58
Summary: "In hindsight, Merida will remember that her ascent to power was anything but smooth and easy..."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This happened because a lovely friend came up with an idea and gave me feels and then told me to write the thing because (apparently) I'm good at writing angst. And let me tell you, this is angst and pain turned up to twelve. Quite possibly one of the most heartbreaking things I've had the pleasure of writing. 
> 
> But anyways, this story is all written and all three parts will be up promptly (as in by the end of the week). Enjoy, my lovelies!

In hindsight, Merida will remember that her ascent to power was anything but smooth and easy. 

She is 23 and still unwed when The Bear King is killed, and the loss of his presence in her life turns her world on end. Her Dad was always there, her biggest supporter and confidant, her champion against the people who would speak against her. To have him suddenly and painfully snatched from her life is more hurt than she can previously recall enduring. The worst part is that everything continues to move around her. Her coronation comes a few months after her Da’s death and while she is proud, _honored_ , to wear that crown and be called Queen...she would happily trade it all away if it meant having her Da back in her life. 

Surprisingly, her crowning is met with a great deal of resistance from so many people it is disheartening. The ruling lords are certainly vocal in their opinions, and even her council express severe uncertainty in her abilities. To ask the men of the clans, sure, maybe she had the potential strength to rule the four clans, but having a man on the throne was a better option for their kingdom. Every criticism that is brought before her she takes in with unswerving tact.

Which turns out to be an exasperating task because their complaints are many. They take turns pointing out her youth _(she bites her tongue to keep from reminding them that Queen Elinor was quite a few years younger than Merida is now when she was crowned Queen...)_ and are convinced she will not be able to take on the responsibilities of ruling by herself, therefore she needs someone strong and experienced by her side. It certainly doesn’t matter that Merida hasn’t been in power long enough to have a proper go at ruling, so reasonably they can’t know if she will be able to handle it. Her arguments pointing out that were she male, they would not be having this conversation to begin with, fall on deaf ears. 

The proceeding debate between all the men is time consuming and stressful; her council spends a full week engaged in aggressive, impassioned debate over what to do with their new Queen, and what it will take to keep the kingdom together. It is an embittering process. Merida feels no ease leaving the fate of her life – and more importantly her kingdom – in the hands of a group of fifteen men. 

As she paces the cobblestone floor outside of her own throne room, waiting for her council to tell her if they are going to throw their lot in behind her or if she’s going to have to jump through hoop after hoop like a bloody show animal to keep her people at peace, Merida is sure she has never felt her youth in such a way before. Her body hangs in a hyperaware state through the entire week of debate. 

In the end, the cowardly bastards don’t even tell her to her face what their decision is. Instead they send in Queen Elinor, and it is the first painfully obvious sign Merida has that she will not like the answer she is about to get. She is wearing a hole in the bearskin rug that lays before the open hearth when her Ma enters, muttering to herself and wringing her hands. Merida pauses in her repetitive movement, takes one look at her Mum, and knows that she is, once again, going to have to fight for what is rightfully her. 

With a heavy sigh, Merida sits down in the chair in front of the fire, hands folded together and head bent. “So, what do I have tae do?” 

Elinor can hear the resignation in her daughter’s voice, and it makes her chest ache because she wants nothing more than for all those self-righteous men to see their Queen now, prepared to do whatever it takes to keep her people at peace, even if the expense comes at a high cost. Elinor smooths out the wrinkles in her skirt and lowers herself gracefully next to her daughter. For a few calming moments they just sit together, starring into the crackling fire. 

“The Lords and council members are prepared to stand behind ye,” Merida tilts her head to glance at her Mum, eyebrow cocked as if to say ‘and…?’ which draws a heavy sigh from Elinor. “They’ll only do it if ye agree tae marry.” Groaning, Merida throws herself back into her seat with a soft snort, rubbing at the bridge of her nose in an attempt to relieve the pressure in her head. 

“Aye, I figured about as much. So who’s the lucky bastard goin’ to be?” Elinor takes a lengthy inhale, bracing herself for the reaction she knows her answer will cause. Merida may have handled the news of forced nuptials…about as well Elinor had expected, but this is the part her daughter will not like. 

“As of now, the council agreed upon Lord Domnall.” In a completely unladylike, ungraceful manor, the words tumble out of Lady Elinor’s mouth in a rush. She does not have time to care about appearing in control as all her energy is reserved for watching Merida’s reaction. 

Merida responds to the words slowly, in an exaggerated fashion as her body freezes. Then she sits up and turns slowly toward her Ma in the light of heart crunching realization. “Lord Domnall?” Elinor nods once and Merida shakes her head as if in disbelief. “As in Lord Domnall Macintosh? Mac’s father? The man who is twenty some odd years older than me? _Are ye serious?”_

Well, that is the rage Elinor had originally expected. She watches as Merida flies out of her seat, face instantly beat red as she paces the small space in front of the fire. For some reason her daughter’s mannerisms remind Elinor of a caged animal waiting for slaughter, knowing the inevitability of what is to come but being unable to remain still in the meantime. Elinor tries to keep her voice calm, though seeing her Merida’s growing unease sets her on edge. 

“Aye, the council thinks he’s a good choice. He’s smart, reliable, knows how tae lead relatively well. And the lads trust him.” 

“Tha’s all well and good. I suppose the fact that he’s near yer age is just a wee thing tae them?” 

“I’s really not that big of a difference in age – “

“Comin’ from the person who doesnae have tae marry the man!” Elinor can feel the anger radiating off Merida, and frankly doesn’t blame her daughter a bit. She had fought with passion to keep the council from coming to the decision of Lord Domnall as suitor for her daughter. After the life she had with Fergus…suffice it to say Elinor wants nothing less than that for every single one of her children. 

With a heavy heart, she knows that if it comes to it, Merida will marry Domnall. For peace. For strength. For her people. For every other reason a ruler can come up with, but certainly not for herself. The most her daughter could ever hope for out of such a marriage would be aloof indifference in a cold partnership. Elinor is no fool to think that, between Dom and Merida’s matching tempers and a twenty plus year age difference, there is any way for this pairing to end well.

“I know yer mad, daughter. I tried.” Merida abruptly stops her pacing and slumps to the floor at her mum’s feet, hands resting in the plum silk satin fabric of Elinor’s lap. “I told ‘em there had tae be at least five months of courtship, not a day less. And we would revisit the topic again before anythin’ is made official.” Merida sighs, resting her head in her Mum’s lap, and Elinor absently strokes at the curls, trying to soothe them both with the simple, caring gesture. “Are ye goin’ to agree to it?

Suddenly Elinor watches as the fire reignites in her daughter’s body and soul. Merida looks up her – all steely eyed determination and burning, lots of burning. 

“’Course I’m goin’ tae agree to it. Don’ have much of a choice do I? If it means that my people can stay safe, we can avoid a war, I’ll do whatever the hell I need to.” 

Elinor sighs, watches as Merida rises and visibly shakes herself out. She leaves the room with a single-mindedness that she only takes with situations of the utmost importance and Elinor wilts where she sits. “Tha’s what I was afraid she’d say.” 

\- - - -

The announcement of the courtship is met with resounding positivity, much to Merida’s dismay. All the lads seem to think that Lord Domnall Macintosh is a fine choice for their young Queen. Their words are an echo of what her Ma told her the previous evening – Lord Dom is a good man, steady and intelligent and reliable. He’ll be able to lead Merida through the new and uncomfortable stresses of ruling with ease. Nobody brings up the fact that Domnall’s own son is just two years older than the lass he is supposed to court. Nobody mentions the fact that despite all her bravado, their Queen seems a bit shaken by the whole prospect (they will chalk it up to maidenly nerves anyhow). Most of all, nobody asks what it is that Merida wants, but she figures expecting to have a say in picking her husband has always been a bit of a fanciful dream anyhow. 

For the sake of everybody around her, she tries valiantly to hold it together. And in those first few days, it is easy enough. At the very least, Domnall has been around since she was a wee lassie, advising her Mum and Dad for years, so she’s acquainted with his presence in the castle. He is very courteous and respectful and the whole thing is…well, gods awkward, if she’s being honest, but not so terrible as to consider calling it off and risking a civil war. 

\- - - -

As it turns out, allowing herself to be courted by Lord Domnall Macintosh is easily the hardest thing she’s had to do in her short life. There is always a sense of urgency that plays in her mind, telling her to come off as sincere, because there is too much at risk if people can see just how uncomfortable she is. Merida prays her tension comes off as the nervousness of a lass being courted for the first time, and not the actual deep-seeded disgust that threatens to swallow her whole. Every single time he comes close her heart starts pounding, palms turning sweaty as her ears ring and her body turns to ice water, and she knows her reaction has nothing to do with desire. It is gut curling unease. And anger. Always, always, _always_ anger. 

The more Merida has to shut herself down, hold everything bottled tight inside her chest cavity, the more it seems that she’s liable to go off at any given moment. It is no exaggeration to say that she feels like a canon, fuse lit and waiting to blow holes in whatever surrounds her. Merida knows that at any moment she could go off, and anybody around her is liable to be counted as a casualty. There’s a sense of having to limit the death count by keeping arms length from everyone at all time. Being separated from existence when she wants nothing more than for someone to listen and understand is tiring. 

About two weeks into this _thing_ \- she refuses to use the word ‘courtship’, that makes this far too real - she notices that every time Lord Domnall moves to her side, draws an arm about her, the young lord Cothric expression turns to pure disdain. His eyes flash fire blue diamonds, lit to burning and sharp enough to cut bone, and she feels the hit direct, straight to her chest. The worst part about this ever present stinging she feels constantly drilled into the back of her head is that she has no idea what his problem is. 

The only thing she can think of that would be making him this upset is disapproval at his father’s choice of. Everyone within the castle knows the story of the late Lady Macintosh, a beautiful woman, inside and out, with an unspeakably kind soul who was swept up as wife to Domnall when she was not quite eighteen. Her life was cut short in the face of an incredibly risky pregnancy when Mac was just shy of ten, and most of the Clan Macintosh men whisper that their lord has never been the same since. Merida is painfully aware of the fact that she will never live up to the awe-inspiring looks of the Lady Macintosh; she is not what anyone would call a great beauty. Her hair is too unruly, a mass of red that takes on a life of its own, with freckles peppering her pale, pastey skin. If it weren’t for the crown on her head, she would never be anybody’s first choice, and she is entirely convinced half the kingdom knows that. 

Mac’s blatant disgust with her is salt in a wound knifed open into her heart. This whole forced courtship is so gods be damned awkward for her, she doesn’t want to be doing this, but for her people – even those who are loudest to criticize – she has to keep the peace. If this courtship is the only way to do it then, damn it, it’s going to happen. No amount of glaring from Cothric Macintosh can stop it. What his glares can do is make her vision turn red and blood drum an angry beat in her ear. After four solid weeks of him glaring daggers at her every day, she’s ready to snap in half. 

\- - - - 

Late one evening there is a group of clansmen sitting in the throne room as the hour closes in on midnight. There is far too much ale being consumed (though not by her; if Merida lets herself start drinking too much, lets herself get just a wee bit out of control, she is liable to drown), and laughter bounces through the rafters, coloring the walls with a shade of happiness Merida doesn’t remember how to feel. The joy does nothing to penetrate the armor she has built around herself for safe keeping. Bawdy stories flow freely throughout the room while Merida sits by herself at the far end of a table, nursing her ale even though the taste makes her stomach sour. 

She is listening with something between acute embarrassment and simmering anger as Lord Domnall recounts how successfully their courtship is going. He claims to his men, loud enough that she can hear - loud enough that she knows _he knows_ she can hear - that while the Queen is a bit hesitant and restrained, it’s only because she’s a green lassie, with a maiden-faire heart. When the courtship is all said and done, he smugly proclaims, she’ll be brought to heel no trouble. The men boom with laughter, loud and raucous at the implications, and Merida has to fight herself to not slink down into her seat in an attempt to disappear. 

Instead her nails dig bite marks into her palm, one fist clenched tight about the edge of her seat. She wants to scream that her hesitancy has absolutely nothing to do with maidenhood, it’s him that is the problem. So she lets the rage overtake her, because otherwise there are tears that threaten to come, and she will be damned if she allows these men to see her cry. Glancing across the room, her eyes easily land on Mac’s form, disgust openly written across his strong features. His lip curls into a snarl at his father’s words and the men’s laughter and when their eyes meet, hers blank and devoid of emotion, his hard and rigid, Merida can feel his anger rolling across the room in waves. 

That is what finally makes her snap. She is so fucking tired of him looking at her like she is the scum of the land. It’s with resolute determination that Merida decides, once and for all, she is going to make Cothric Macintosh understand that this gods-forsaken courtship wasn’t her idea, but he is just going to have to deal with it. With unflappable poise, she makes her way over to the table where he’s sitting. He watches her with a rigid form and a steady eye as she comes closer, and he is startled to see the lines of weariness that weave between the tangles of her hair and her delicate ribcage. Heavy hands lean against the table as she cocks her head, his sapphire blue eyes meeting molten steel in hers.

“Mac, a word.” He raises a brow at her and the slight shaking he can hear underpinning her words. He nods once, moves to pick up his tankard to drain the last of his ale, and is surprised when she knocks the glass clean out of his hand, listening as it crashes to the ground, the remainder of his drink coating the hem of her teal gown. 

_“Now,”_ she commands, growling the words from low in her chest, and he shoves away from the table with irritation, gesturing to her lead. 

Merida has no idea where she’s going as she leads him out of the room, and for the first time she is thankful there has been so much ale consumed during the course of the evening so Domnall doesn’t question where she’s heading with his son. They’re both wrapped up in a heart pounding silence as Mac dutifully follows his Queen. It’s uncomfortable, energy laden and anger filled, and their heavy breathing matches their heavy footsteps. It is entirely possible, Merida thinks, that if someone were to light a match between her and Mac, they would burn the entire castle to the ground, that’s how volatile the mood seems to be. She rounds a corner, darkened and quiet from the lateness of the hour, and spots a little annexed room off to the right. She pushes open the door, ushering him inside, slamming it shut with more force than she intends before turning on him and unleashing two months’ worth of unspent rage. 

“What in the hell is yer problem?” The words are sharp-tipped spears laced with poison and she throws them with deadly precision. 

“The bloody hell do ye mean, wha’s my problem?” 

“Don’t play daft wi' me, I’m not in the mood. I’ve been watchin’ ye for the last two months snarl and sneer at me for bein’ with yer father an' I’ve had just about enough.” She feels the rage building, spiraling tighter and higher, driving up her heart rate until she is shaking. 

“I know I've no' the looks or the kindness of yer Mum, but you aren't the one going through wi' this hells unpleasant thing, an' if the idea of him wanting tae court me disgusts ye so much, bloody tell him.” Mac can feel every word hurled at him, hitting center mark with a disastrously efficient aim. He doesn’t know whether to be shocked at her words, or spitting mad because she really thinks that little of him. 

“Is tha’ what ye think I’m angry about?” He draws off the wall he had been leaning against to invade her space. Merida snorts, meeting his challenging advance with one of her own.

“Don’t pretend it’s not. Lyin’ doesnae suit ye.” She doesn’t even hear the words that start to tumble from her mouth. “I get it, ye know. I’m nothin' like the great beauty of yer Mum. I certainly don’ draw attention.” His eyes flare with anger and she can tell she’s hit some chord, as he tenses and draws up, fists clenched at his side. 

“An' yes, well aware that I’m a bloody mess at the moment. But... am I really tha' terrible a woman that ye can’t see how anyone would want me?” Mac stares at her, dumbfounded, until he shakes himself loose of the thoughts. With another step forward they’re toe-to-toe. Merida lifts her chin defiantly, doesn’t drop his gaze, and she can see the anger in her body mirrored in his own. 

“Mer… Yer an eejit.” Before she can respond, his mouth is on hers. 

For a moment, she freezes as his lips press down on hers. It’s a terrifying, heart-stopping second as thoughts tumble through her head in rapid succession because _oh, hell Mac is actually kissing her_. Blood rushes through her ears, Mac’s furious attack on her lips slows to a hesitation and she breaks. With a loud gasp, she tilts her head back, rises up onto her tiptoes, fists a hand through his dark curls and drags him into a kiss that is bruising friction. 

Merida swears there is an explosion between them as their bodies begin thrumming with untapped energy, and their kisses take on a frantic life of their own. Mac runs his tongue along the seam of her lips, and she melts into his mouth with no hesitation. His hands snake to her back, tugging to meld her every curve to his hard lines and the sheer solidness of the man she’s pressed against is enough to make her head spin. It’s a desperate back and forth of lips, teeth, and tongues, breath fanning against cheeks as they fight a battle they had no idea was being waged. Her chest heaves and burns from a lack of air but she can’t – won’t – pull away quite yet. Mac sucks her bottom lip between his teeth, scraping the flesh harshly enough to draw a heavy moan from her. She can’t breathe, her chest is screaming in pain, her head spins and still it’s only when her knees begin to shake that she pulls back, gasping as her vision pinpricks black spots. 

Merida’s head falls back against the stone wall with a heavy thump, as Mac presses his forehead to the space just above her shoulder. His breathing – just as labored as hers – sounds loudly in her ear as his thumb rubs soothing circles into the rise of her hip bone. The only sound in the small room is the matching struggle of drawing oxygen into bodies, of reclaiming feeling and function that is more than sizzle, crack, pop that dances along the ridges of their goosebumps. Merida refuses to open her eyes because she’s liable to lose herself completely, (lose herself in what she isn’t quite sure), and Mac runs a hand through his disheveled hair because that actually happened. 

“My Queen… I’m –” the words end abruptly, turning into a muffled yelp as she lands a solid kick to his shin. 

With an impressive yank of his hair that leaves his scalp stinging she pulls his head enough so she can look him straight in the eye. “If ye even dare think of apologizing, I will never forgive ye.” The words come on their own, and as surprised as Mac seems to be, Merida is more so. She has been blindsided, the last few minutes upending her thoughts so completely that her body becomes an oasis. Her mind is unfamiliar territory that nobody has given her a map to, and she’s lost to drifting in this strange feeling, her body is singing with everything it never knew it needed. 

“Mer, please…”

“Oh for the love of - shut the hell up.” She yanks him back to her, and he doesn’t have a chance to put up a fight. Merida claims his mouth like it was made for her, and his hands settle just below her arse, teasingly dancing along the smooth, satiny material of her gown. Sparks soar through her body at the feel of his burning hot hands against the fabric covered smoothness of her skin, and butterflies erupt to dance through her veins. There’s a warm tingling that begins low in her gut, and her hands fall to his shoulders as his kisses leave a trail of fire down the slope of her neck, light nips of his teeth against the sensitive skin become an exclamation point to a rapidly developing story. 

Mac is proud to discover that there is a spot, just below the bony juncture of her lower jaw that when he sucks hard - followed by a sharp bite and soothing kisses - makes her head fall to the side as her loud, breathy moan fills the room. The sound sinks through his skin and shoots straight to his groin, and he curses at the fact that he is so gods damned aroused by her. 

She can’t open her eyes, because if she does she’s liable to be sick. Somewhere in the dusty recesses of her mind Merida realizes - as she’s arching her chest into his, nipples straining against the cloth of her gown, aching for attention - that she is currently entangled in the arms of the son of the man who’s courting her. The thought draws up to the front of her brain and she makes the distinct decision to ignore it. For the last two months she has been so, so fucking lost in her own body, a stranger to her own mind, and for the first time, she is experiencing a connection that is real, tangible, and solid. It is hot and scalds her skin but for right now she does not care about the scorch marks that are going to scar later on. 

Mac pulls slightly at the neckline of her gown, drawing it down just enough to kiss along the tops of her breasts and, gods, all she wants is the feel of his mouth on every inch of her body. His thumbs brush against the raised peaks of her nipples, spinning circles around the sensitive flesh and she hums her approval low in her throat. His hands, brushing along her stomach, over the plain of her hips, hesitate momentarily, and then she feels his fingers, thick and heavy, stroke along her jaw, tilting her head up. 

“Look at me,” the words skate across her skin and her gaze meets his, all lust blown eyes, unspoken questions, and lost souls. Merida doesn’t wonder at the question in his look. She knows that they’re about to go down a dangerous path if she gets the word past her lips. But she feels so alive and lovely and burning. ‘No’ isn’t an option. 

She nods once and then he’s pulling her skirts up in one go, as his fingers slide down to work at the mound of flesh between her thighs. When he realizes just how aroused she already is, his confident fingers thrusting into the warmth of her body, he nearly loses control of himself. Mac works her to the point where she’s grinding her hips into his hand on every stroke, desperate to feel more. When his thumb finds the bundle of sensitive nerves of her clit, stroking in time with the movement of his hand, her gasp of surprise falls away into a long, throaty groan of, “bloody hell, Mac,” that has his hips jerking into hers and the friction is intoxicating. There are fumbling kisses, and hands, and limbs and she feels herself flush pink, arousal rolling through her in a wave when his cock presses into her waiting body. It twinges a bit, and her whimper is lost somewhere between a sob and a sigh. 

Then it’s wild thrusting and groping, fingernails to skin, teeth clanking, a battle to survive coming together with a fury that means she will have bruises on her hips for days. She reaches between them, finds that spot that makes her unravel. With a few firm presses she’s down for the count, and he spirals right behind her. 

\- - - -

They don’t touch each other afterwards. 

Merida lets her skirts fall back to the ground and Mac untangles his hand from her hair before leaning against the wall for support. They stand side by side, matching each other in rising chests and closed eyes, but no closer. Feelings swirl through Merida’s body, unchecked and unusual. Merida may be a maiden (or, may have been, she guesses is more accurate now), she’s certainly not unaware of the pleasure that her body can give her. But it is nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to what this has stirred in her soul. 

Surprisingly, what she does not count on is this heavy sadness that overtakes her. She tries to straighten out her gown, it’s so horribly wrinkled dear gods, but her hands won’t quit shaking and Mac won’t look at her and she just _screwed_ Mac in a glorified closet, and she is mortified to feel the prickling of tears at the edges of her eyes. The overwhelming anxiety that hits her heart knocks the air from her lungs, but she refuses to panic. At least, not yet. Not here. 

She tries to square her shoulders, though it doesn’t quite work. Tears are still threatening her vision and she refuses to let them fall. So she takes a good, long blink and when she finally opens her eyes, Mac is starring at her, half curiosity, half apprehension. 

“Mer, are ye alri – “

“Please, please, don’ ask me that right now.” Mac looks completely shocked at her heavy, trembling words. She can see the moment when he recognizes her eyes have taken on a glassy appearance, can tell he’s about to say something. Instead she holds up a hand and his mouth snaps shut. “This was a one-time thing. It can’t happen again. Aye?” He nods with a difficult swallow, unsure if he’s supposed to speak or not, but her body seems to relax infinitesimally when he doesn’t give voice to the words. 

Merida shakes out her curls, trying to get them into some semblance of an order, though it’s a fruitless effort. “Wait for a few minutes before ye leave. We shouldnae be caught comin’ back together.” She doesn’t wait for his response, knowing full well he isn’t going to risk it. So she spins on her foot and leaves without another word. 

Mac counts to fifty, very slowly, before he even contemplates leaving. 

By the time he has reached thirty-five, the gravity of the situation hits him. 

He just senselessly – emotionlessly – screwed Merida. His Queen. His friend. The lass who’s being courted by his father. The lass who, up until about half an hour ago, had been a virgin. Somehow they managed to blow everything to pieces in a brilliant display of passion, which is so very like them that Mac can’t even feign being completely surprised. 

The combination of those facts leave him reeling in the aftermath. There is a tidal wave of guilt because in some way, he feels like he’s taken advantage of her. Let her down. The fact that she had been a virgin hits him hard – he’s certain that she thinks she managed to hide the slight limp in her gait as she left, but he’s been around her too long to not notice something like that. He hurt her. Not intentionally, never. But thoughtlessly. Even if he hadn’t hurt her, she deserved more than a quick romp against a wall for her first time. 

As he slips out of the small room, Mac knows he’s going to spend the rest of his days beating himself up over this. But despite all that, there’s a small silver lining in his mind. He won’t admit it out loud, barely wants to admit it to himself, but there is a very, very small part of him that is glad it was him for Merida’s first time and not his father. 

\- - - - 

Somehow it turns out this “one-time thing” happens at least every few days. 

It’s not even a full week after that first time when Merida cannot deal with thinking anymore, and winds up back in Mac’s arms. It is almost impressive; she doesn’t even have to say anything to him. All Merida has to do is press a grasping hand to his shoulder, give him a frantic, wild look and he pulls her out into the corridor and to his room before the word yes can properly form in her head. They don’t make it to his bed, and he ends up taking her hard and fast against the door, fumbling hands and shaking release. 

The warm feeling in her stomach is wonderful, makes her body hum, and most importantly quiets the angry voices in her head for a bit. She doesn’t say anything as she pulls and tugs at her gown, tries to get her hair to behave despite the fact that Mac has mussed it thoroughly with impatient hands. He watches her with lingering arousal but also faint concern, and that one look speaks volumes. _What are we doing? Are you ok?_ Merida gives him a tight, self-depreciating smile and a small shrug in answer. She doesn’t have an actual response, so she presses a soft kiss to his lips and slips out of the room without a single word in explanation. 

That strange sense of guilt sets in later that evening as she lays in bed, wide awake. Her mind tells her, over and over and over, that what she is doing is so very wrong, on so many levels. Merida knows the high value of her virginity, even if her Ma has never explicitly explained it to her. She knows that the way she keeps falling back into Mac’s arms is going to come back to bite her, but still, she can’t find it in herself to regret it. The guilt and shame that she feels are entirely societal pressures, but it doesn’t make them sting any less. As her thoughts bounce around the room, moonbeams cast light across the stone tile, making her nauseous. The soft light rolls, matching her emotions, and it’s a very bitter manifestation. Nothing she does works to settle the thoughts in her brain, and she finally succumbs to sleep just as the sun scrapes the horizon. 

\- - - - -

A few days after that, Merida ends up storming out of a council meeting after the fifth comment is thrown her way about her lack of experience and how Lord Macintosh is one of the best things that could have happened to her. Lord Domnall preens under the words of praise as Merida tries to count backwards from one hundred, tries to keep herself steady against the building rage that sweeps through her. The whole thing is so preposterous, so damn insulting that she dismisses the meeting with a few tight words and is the first one out of the door, lost in a flurry of skirts and bubbling anger and she winds up riding by herself, seemingly vanishing into thin air, which is just as well for everyone. 

She’s gone without a word to anyone (except her Mum, because really, she may be emotional but she doesn’t have a death wish) for near three hours. So it’s a bit surprising when Mac manages to find her out at the edge of the forest, sitting at the foot of a tree, plucking grass from the ground while Angus happily munches apples nearby. She doesn’t pay him any mind as he seats himself next to her. Mac doesn’t speak at all for a good ten minutes, and she is just fine with the stony silence that builds between them. 

Merida gives an internal groan when he sighs, deep and heavy, clearing his throat to get her attention. 

“Ye didnae tell anyone where ye went.”

Merida snorts, brushing the pile of picked grass off the knee of her skirts. “Aye, well, wasnae exactly in the sharin’ mood.” She glances up at him, and for a brief second, Mac thinks he sees a flash of pain but he can’t be sure. “Asides, according to the council I’m the worst thing that could’ve happened tae this kingdom. Sure it wouldnae be any great loss were I to up and leave.” 

“Ach, well that rings with bitterness.”

“Oh does it? I was tryin’ so hard tae hide it.” He can read her like an open book, knows her humor and her idiosyncrasies pretty well after all these years together. She defaults to this dead-pan sarcasm when she’s hurting, and he knows it because she did the same thing just after King Fergus’ death. 

“The council can go hang. They’re bloody daft if they think yer the worst thing that could’ve happened.” At Mac’s words, Merida gives him a hesitant, appreciative grin. Even though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, he feels a little thrill of happiness at seeing it’s reluctant appearance. 

“Comin’ from you, tha’s high praise.” 

“Aye, well, I could always be king right now…”

She gives him a startled laugh with her response, “Yer right, the whole kingdom would be doomed then.” He laughs right along with her, and the awareness of how far they’ve come since those early days settles into both of their skin. 

When asked, Merida would never know who was the first to move. One minute they’re next to each other, looking out at the landscape, and the next she finds herself laid out in the grassy field, with Mac hovering above her and kissing her soundly. His mouth presses heavy, urgent kisses to her lips, traveling lower when she pulls away with a gasp, nipping and playing at the skin of her neck. 

Somewhere along the way her dress is removed, and she is left in her pristine white shift. Merida runs her hands up and down the length of his back, nails scraping lightly, and she feels a flush of pride at the shudder that runs through his body. That pride melts away as Mac’s mouth dampens the fabric of her shift as he suckles her nipple through the linen, and she is glad they are so far from the castle, because her gasps and hums come one after another, without stop. From there it’s just a sea of feeling, not necessarily anger at the moment, but a myriad of others. A sense of being together. Feeling safe. Being alright for a moment. 

He presses into her gently, more gently than their last two encounters at any rate. Merida’s body is learning quickly the pleasant buzz of being so intimately connected with his own. His thrusts are sure and strong, and her touches undo him. When they both finally let go, it is with mingling breath and clinging hands that dance along skin. As she presses lingering kisses to his lips in the aftermath of their climaxes, she realizes her world is upside down and for some reason, Mac is the only thing keeping her grounded.

\- - - -

As is their usual course of action, they don’t talk about it. It just continues, every few days, this cycle of coming together and falling apart. Merida finds herself stretched taught to breaking and Mac is right there waiting with open arms and plentiful kisses to relieve the tension that is in every single inch of her body. Normally their encounters are colored with anger, and the result is bruises on hips and rough climaxes, but on occasion, Mac can tell there is something more to their coupling, though he couldn’t say what that something more was. 

Truly they don’t mean for it to be like this. There is so much risk involved with them being together, so much wrong with it, and yet they can’t seem to stop themselves from colliding. Still, neither of them can bring up the subject. Those fleeting moments when they find comfort in each other’s arms are solely about a connection that surpasses words. They both tell themselves, tell each other even, that they need to stop, but normally those thoughts and words come just before they fall back together. 

With a humorless thought, Merida figures that it makes about as much sense as anything else in their lives, so why not. 

\- - - -

In the midst of all the anger at being forced into a courtship with a man twice her age and falling in with Mac at every turn, she becomes confused. 

As if this whole damn situation wasn’t confusing enough. 

All it takes is one time of her and Mac being together, one time of clinging to each other in the aftermath of another frantic coupling, back in that first little annexed room where they started this fire. Merida is trying to calm her breathing enough so that she can leave, but it’s hard with his arm woven around her waist, heavy puffs of his breath warming her neck when she hears him sigh. 

“This is such a mess,” she can hear the exasperation, the anger, in his tone and it chokes her because _finally_ , somebody else is willing to acknowledge this disaster for what it is. His words hit her somewhere between her heart and her gut and Merida feels her breath whoosh out of her in one fell swoop, and with it goes – everything. 

Every bit of anger and frustration and strength and sadness and _how bloody unfair is this_ rushes out of her body and she’s left sapped of emotion. When Mac feels her knees buckle, he lowers her steadily to the ground, eyes staring worriedly into her watery gaze as he tries to discern what’s going on in her mind. Merida pulls her knees into her chest, wrapping arms around herself as Mac kneels next to her, his hand falling softly to her shoulder. A few tears slip down her cheek and she furiously wipes them away. 

“Ye know, yer the first one who’s said that,” Merida gives him a weak chuckle, trying vehemently to keep more traitor tears from coming because damn it she will not cry in front of him. So she knuckles at her eyes and sucks in air, gives Mac a grimace that tries to pass for a smile. 

Mac doesn’t know what to say to that because he can’t believe that nobody else has seen how this whole forced courtship is so bloody unfair, and more importantly, how much it is killing her. When he takes a good, long look at his Queen all he can see is how tired she looks. Her eyes don’t sparkle like they used to, and even her vibrant, larger than life curls seem to have lost some of their luster. Mac’s mind grapples with different things to say, words careening around his head, but nothing makes sense or encompasses everything he wishes he could tell her. 

He settles for leaning forward and hooking a finger lightly under her chin, bringing her weary eyed gaze to meet his own and kissing her, long and deep, tongues winding and dancing together with her hums of content. When she’s finally boneless, not an ounce of tension left in her body, he pulls back and Merida is able to see the seriousness in his face, and it’s not an expression she’s used to on his features.

“Mer, I’m here,” his words are heavy and pleading and she can feel the desperation in them. With three words he’s trying to make her understand everything in his muddled brain, and though it isn’t much in the way of declarations, she gets it. She manages to give him a more believable smile this time as his words sink into her skin, and Mac is certain she can feel the relief that suddenly overtakes his body. Everything is upside down, backwards, inside out, mad, and for the first time in all of this, Merida thinks that maybe she doesn’t have to bear it all on her own. 

Mac rearranges himself to lean against the wall next to her and pulls an arm around her shoulder. To his surprise she rests her head against him without fight and that little motion is a true testament to her mental exhaustion. 

If Mac is surprised when she starts quietly whispering everything that she’s been through, all her wild and raw emotions, he doesn’t show it. He just lets her talk and gods if it doesn’t feel wonderful to be able to let it all out. The hand not tight around her shoulder reaches for her other hand, lacing their fingers together. The unexpected gesture causes her words stumble and she looks at him, questioning, but his gaze just tells her keep going. The callouses of his fingertips brush softly against her knuckles and it gives her a strange kind of strength that she’s unaccustomed to. 

Merida has no idea how long they sit there, but after she’s run out of words, her eyes drift shut. Instead of waking her up like a normal person – because really, she’s fallen asleep sitting on the stone floor resting against his shoulder, it’s not exactly comfortable – he just lets her sleep for a bit. Without a doubt Merida knows she would be lying through her teeth if she said it wasn’t the most relaxed she had felt in months. 

The warmth that blooms in her chest at the level of caring from Mac is completely startling, wholly unexpected…and then not unexpected at all. It takes very little thought to realize that he is a source of calm in her tumultuous life, that his touch can take away her thoughts and worries for a time. That doesn’t catch her off guard nearly as much as the fact that she finds herself wanting to tell him every single detail of what’s going on in her life. She wants to pull her heart from her chest and lay it at his feet because she knows that he will keep it safe or die trying. For a single, horrifying moment, she worries she might be entirely in danger of falling for this man.

It is a terrifying thought, especially considering the situation they’ve landed themselves in. But for once, Merida decides she will worry about that later. Much, much later. So she lays her head back against Mac’s shoulder, and lets the warmth of his voice cover her for a bit longer.

_Later, after everything is over, if Merida was pressed to pinpoint when everything changed, that moment – him and her curled together in that cramped, dark room – would be it._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: the angst and heart break get worse before it gets better...

Merida can count the number of times they’ve spent more than a few hours with each other on one hand. It’s a rare occurrence, she’s so busy all the damn time and under constant scrutiny. But occasionally, just once or twice, she manages to pull him back to her room and lock themselves in for a few hours. 

The first time is a bit awkward. Normally he drags her back to his own bedchambers if they are close enough, but this time, she’s tired of their frantic coupling followed by an even more frantic trying to put themselves to rights before they have to appear again. Merida wants time with him. For the last few months, when she hasn’t been handling matters of rule or having to appear at Domnall’s side, she has been reclusive, hiding herself away, and for once she doesn’t want to have to hide. She doesn’t want to hide from _him_.

So she tugs him back to her chambers, silencing his unspoken question with a determined glance back and his mouth snaps shut. Safely locked in her bedchamber, she pushes him against the door and it becomes that same desperate coupling as always. The only difference is afterwards, instead of having to hastily try to put themselves together, Mac is able to help her slip out of her gown, and pull her into bed where they’re able to just…be together. Merida curls happily into his side and they talk for what feels like days. No pressure. No expectations. Just them.

The second time she’s able to get him to herself follows in a very similar manner. 

They’re frantic for each other, trying to get as close to each other as they possibly can. Their kisses are hard, bruising and skin on fire. She tries to pull away after they come down from their shattering climaxes, simply out of habit, but Mac doesn’t let her. Instead, he pulls her into his arms with a soft kiss, relishing the feel of her folding into his body, as his hands work down the length of her gown, slowly undoing the laces. He pulls her towards the massive bed and she’s guided down onto her back, Mac’s eyes smiling into hers. They luxuriate in each other and it’s so unspeakably peaceful that Merida never wants the moment to end.

But because this is her life, the moment shatters. In the form of a voice outside her window. Reciting poetry. _Loudly_. 

Both she and Mac freeze at the sound and Merida is already cringing inside because of all the nights for this to happen, dear gods, why tonight? She pulls out of Mac’s arms, feeling the red rising high on her cheeks, the angry swirling in her gut, mortified tears pulling at her eyes. Moving on autopilot, her feet carry her to the window and damn it all if _he’s_ not out there.

She takes a step to the side, so she’s out of the window frame, and rests her forehead against the cool stone of the wall. The sound of Domnall’s voice echoes up to her and curls her stomach, his saccharine sweet words leaving a decidedly bitter taste in her mouth. Merida struggles valiantly to try and convince herself that this really isn’t happening to her, that it’s all some sort of awful hallucination because it’s horrifying on so many different levels and all she wants to do is curl into herself and disappear. There is a distinct moment when she can feel her body start shaking – whether in rage or humiliation she isn’t sure – as her fists clench, nails biting her palms. Everything else around her falls away until all she notices is the heavy tension in her muscles as her breathing goes shallow.

Until she feels strong hands settle on her shoulders and she nearly jumps out of her skin. She’s spun around to meet Mac’s hard gaze and honestly, she thought he had left. It’s what she had been expecting. But instead he’s here, real and solid and burning with anger just as much as she is. 

Mac’s hands bracket her shoulders, pinning her in place. “Gods, lass, I’m sor – “

Merida lets out an exasperated breath, “Hush, ye don’ have tae apologize for him.” Truth be told Merida feels like she should be apologizing to him, anyway. This was not the way she had intended to end their evening, both of them simmering in rage and sudden awkwardness as Domnall’s voice carries on the wind, and gods every person on this half of the castle is going to know what’s going on by the time he’s done. 

She watches as something sparks in Mac’s eyes, and the fiery rage is replaced by something else entirely – determination. His lips fall to the place where her pulse pounds and the unease curling in her gut changes to desire so quickly she is almost embarrassed. Her skin lights on fire as his mouth turns harsh and demanding against her skin and just when she’s edging on desperation he pulls away and she groans quietly.

For a millisecond their eyes lock, and then they collide. Merida feels her breath whoosh out of her as he kisses her soundly. His hands easily find the straps of her shift, and he pushes them down with a sure grin pressed into her lips. A shiver runs down her spine, goosebumps rising in the wake, partly because of the cool air blowing in from the open window, still carrying Domnall’s voice, partly because of the heat in Mac’s gaze. His eyes trail up and down her body at length and it hits her that for all the times they’ve been together, this is the first time she has been completely undressed – completely open – to his gaze. Under his attentive, appreciative, hungry eyes she refuses to bow her head. 

After he’s spent a good, long time contemplating her form (long enough so she starts to feel just a bit antsy) he kisses her again. His tongue sweeps into her mouth without prompting and his hands traverse every inch of her skin, leaving nothing untouched, from the line of her ribcage to the undersweep of her breasts, the flair of her hips to the dimpled skin on her lower back. Despite the urgency of his mouth, his hands are surprisingly gentle in their caresses, taking their time in winding her tighter.  
Merida’s mind hums in curiosity as his mouth follows the path of his hands, slowly and sensually working down her body, peppering kisses across her chest, tongue briefly swirling over each of her nipples until they’re tight peaks, and then thoughts stop coming all together as she watches in awe as he sinks to his knees in front of her. “Mac, what in the hell are ye doin’?” her voice is tight, barely above a whisper and hinging on urgent.

Mac takes his time responding, running his mouth along the smooth plain of her stomach and the freckled skin of her thighs. Every kiss moves closer and closer to where she’s aching. He smiles against the soft skin of her thigh as her muscles tense and her toes curl. “It’s called a distraction, Mer. Ye need one and frankly so do I.” Something uncomfortable churns in her stomach and she tries to tug him back to his feet but he doesn’t budge.

“Well, ye don’ need tae do this. _Really_. I’m fine.” 

Mac stands abruptly and it’s an instant loss to not have his heat warming her skin. His hands cup her face, breath running along her cheeks as he speaks, “Look me in the eye and tell me yer fine, Mer. Make me believe it.” It’s a challenge, and for the first time it’s one she knows she has no hope of winning. Because he can see every inch of her – inside and out – and knows that she is far from ‘fine.’ She tries to bow her head, but his hands hold steady until he sees the reluctance fade. Her heart is hammering wildly against her ribs, she’s sure everybody within a stone’s throw of the castle can hear it, and she steels herself as he settles back onto his knees, resuming his path of spiraling kisses toward her center. 

“I’ve wanted tae do this for ages, ye have no idea,” she can barely hear him over the blood pounding in her ears as his breath ghosts along where she’s aching and already so wet, sending another wave of arousal through her body. He hooks one of her knees over his shoulder, opening her body up to him, and pressing his lips right there and her vision crackles white starlight. 

A moan is ripped from her mouth as he works her relentlessly, licking and sucking hard at her delicate flesh without repent. The onslaught of warmth and continuous sensation, bites and nips and his tongue running along every overly sensitive inch of flesh keeps her continuously muttering his name in between breathy gasps and heavy curses. 

“ _Gods_ , yes, I’m so –” and then he pulls back, chuckling as her pleading words abruptly change to thoroughly cursing his name to hell and back. 

Mac just laughs, glancing up her body, flushed a pretty pink. “Ye have tae be quiet, Mer.” He’s teasing her, the git, and he smirks at the rage that joins the arousal painting her skin.

“Quiet? Fuckin’ hell, Mac, how could anyone be quiet with the things yer doin’? Yer an arse –”

He is quite certain she would be content to continue sputtering and cursing his name, and really, he loves getting a rise out of her, but his mouth latches back on to that sensitive bud of nerves he knows will have her screaming his name, and two sure fingers thrust into her waiting heat. Anything further she might have said dissolves into one long, breathy moan. Mac pulls his mouth away briefly, glancing up at Merida and watching her reaction to his ministrations. His fingers toy with her slowly at first, not really setting a rhythm, thrusting at leisure, and her eyes drift shut as her hands reach blindly for him. She curls her fingers through his hair, silken beneath the tips of her fingers. 

It takes only a minute or so of his fingers curling into her body as his mouth sucks and bites at her flesh, and he watches as Merida falls apart spectacularly in his arms. Her back arches off the wall, his name a hoarse whisper on her lips. Her muscles clench tight around his fingers, and he continues thrusting slowly into her, working her through her climax. Mac is pretty sure it’s one of the most erotic sites he’s ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

But just to make sure of it, he makes her come two more times.

When he asks her later, as she’s curled in his arms because her legs have long since lost the ability to support her weight, if she remembers a word of that silly poetry his Da had been reciting, she’s hard pressed to recall that there was anyone else in the world besides the two of them.

\- - - - 

That one moment keeps her head and heart bearable for a few days. Truly, she doesn’t know how long he stayed there with her that night, but she knows she fell asleep in his arms, knows that when she woke late in the evening, pale moonlight streaking through the window, he was still there, gazing at her with sleepy eyes, voiced edged with emotion as he whispered for her to go back to sleep. She only wishes that he had been there when she woke up that morning. 

Dear gods she wants nothing more, and that realization takes some time to settle.

\- - - -

That little moment of happiness shatters quite thoroughly a few days later. She feels the time restraint of her courtship clenching tight around her heart like a fist. Three and half months, that’s how long she’s been putting up with all of this, and the unsettling realization that she could very well be betrothed in six short weeks fills her with a mixture of dread, apprehension, and full-throttle anger. 

Merida tries not to think about it too much while she’s going about the ever demanding tasks of ruling, but it’s hard when Domnall is always by her side, offering opinions when she doesn’t ask, questioning her every decision. Merida has the very strong urge to remind Lord Dom that they aren’t married yet, and when she needs help she’ll ask (she has the stronger urge to tell him exactly where he can shove all of his opinions).

\- - - -

None of that is even remotely close to causing the anger that boils hot and potent through her body the first time Lord Domnall kisses her. 

It’s late – bloody hell, she should have gone to bed hours ago – but instead she is still sitting in the throne room, busying herself with reading through reports and letters because her room seems a bit too cramped at the moment for her caged heart. 

Domnall is sitting next to her, working through his own pile of letters when this edge of awareness prickles and raises the hairs on the back of her neck. She glances over and he’s just…starring at her with an almost predatory gaze. All of a sudden she feels uncomfortable in her own skin, like it’s somehow too small and chafes and rubs her the wrong way. Merida springs to her feet, hurriedly gathering up her things and murmuring about how she needs to get to sleep. Domnall’s hand circles her wrist lightly and all the papers in her hand flutter to the ground. 

She can’t tell if he says anything, the ringing in her ears is too loud, but the next thing she knows his mouth is pressed against hers and she chokes on the air in her lungs. Goosebumps rise on her arm and a shudder races down her spine as she remembers that she needs oxygen to stay standing upright _(because she certainly isn’t about to become some fainting dandy, no matter how bloody uncomfortable she is)_. But she’s completely trapped as Domnall’s hand slides around her waist. 

She knows there’s absolutely nothing she could do to stop this from happening. It’s inevitable. They’re supposed to be courting for crying out loud, at some point, she knew they would have to cross this bridge. That knowledge does not make the crossing any easier.

In fact, it makes her sick to her stomach, and all she can think is that this man is _nothing_ like Mac, genetic relation notwithstanding. So she just stands there, helpless and trying to not let the disgust become too obvious. It seems like she’s frozen there for a lifetime, and even though she knows that’s not possible, it’s still far too long for her liking. 

When Lord Domnall finally steps away from her, it’s with a condescending smile as he pats her arm. “Don’ worry lass, ye’ll get more comfortable as we get on. And ye’ll certainly get better at kissin’,” he stoops down to pick up the letters that had scattered from her hand, shoves them back into her arm. “Get some sleep, Merida.” It’s more commanding than she likes, but honestly she can’t focus beyond the red swimming across her vision. So she just nods stiffly and storms out of the throne room. 

Merida makes it about halfway to her room when she abruptly changes course and winds up at Mac’s door. For a half a second she hesitates, remembering the lateness of the hour, before she thinks, _fuck it_. For once, she actually _needs_ Mac. Her knock echoes down the hall, and she bounces anxiously from one foot to the other as she waits for him to answer. 

When he opens the door, bleary eyed and wearing just a loose pair of breeches, obviously awoken from sleep, she instantly feels terrible. But one look into her tight-lipped, trembling body, tense expression, he’s instantly alert and pulling her into the room. 

The door falls shut with a soft click and he throws the lock. “Mer, wha’s the matter?” His voice is still rough with sleep, and she promises herself she’ll tell him everything. Just…not yet. 

She fists a hand in his unruly curls and pulls him to her, crashing their mouths together in a move that startles him. His arms slide around her waist, more for the sake of keeping them both upright than anything else, but all she can think about is doing her damndest to get the thought, the feel, of Lord Domnall off her skin. Mac is trying to keep up with her, but his thoughts are sluggish and Merida seems unusually frantic. While he’s grown used to her hurried, demanding nature, this is just a little different. With a monumental effort he pushes her mouth from his, and holds her to his chest to keep her from squirming away. 

“Mer, what in the hell is wrong?”

Merida sucks in a breath, closing her eyes, and the disgust that shades her voice makes his skin crawl. “Lord Domnall…yer Da kissed me.” 

It’s like a physical blow to his body, and it takes everything in him to not punch a hole through the bloody door. He tries to calm himself down, tells himself that they both knew this was coming soon. Mac just…didn’t expect it to hurt so much. He nods slowly at her, and he can see the anger swirling in her beautiful blue eyes, but he doesn’t know what he can say to make it better. 

“I…what do ye need me tae do?”

Merida pauses for a moment, anger and confusion and worry and pain all racing through her mind at once. Instead of answering, she presses herself as close to Mac’s body as she can possibly get, there’s not a breath of space between them, as she run her hands methodically up and down his bare chest. Her words are more of a garbled mess than an actual sentence, but her hears her, “just want to forget for a bit.” That is a request Mac is more than able to help with. 

In what has to be record time, he has her out of her out of her gown and shift, and her shaking hands fumble with the laces at his breeches. He pulls her up into his arms, and she wraps her legs around his waist as their mouths collide in a kiss that is worlds away from gentle. It’s sloppy and pulsing with anger and need as they both lose themselves in the feel of skin on skin. 

Mac lays her out right there on the floor despite the fact that the bed isn’t more than a few steps away. Neither of them want soft and sweet; they need brutal, bruising, bone deep fucking. Without warning he drives into her, hard and unforgiving, as Merida yanks at his hair drawing his gaze to hers. “Mac,” she tries to speak, but her words trail off on every hard thrust of his cock. She swallows a heavy, gasping breath, focuses, because she has to get this out. “Mac, please,” the agitated edge of her voice catches his attention, and his lust blown eyes meet hers. “I…I want tae see you in the morning. I can’t look at myself and see him.” 

It is hardly an articulate sentence on her part, but Mac understands what she’s trying valiantly to get out. When she looks in the mirror tomorrow, she wants to be able to see a physical reminder of _them_. 

Honestly the request shocks him. It’s always been an unspoken rule between them: he never marks her anywhere that she can’t easily hide, and because he knows his self-control only goes so far, he usually just avoids it altogether. If he gives into this desire, he’ll be afraid to see her body when he finishes…but gods her eyes are pleading and he can’t say no to her. 

His mouth latches onto the curve where her neck meets her shoulder and he bites. Hard. Her muffled screech into his shoulder gives him pause until he hears her mutter _dear gods, do tha’ again_ and he smirks because marking this woman is something he’s dreamed about for far longer than he has had any right to. 

But he does exactly as she asks, leaving kissed bruises along her chest, against her shoulder, one particularly vivid bite against her breast that drives her hips into his. His powerful hands leave marks along her thigh as he yanks them higher up over his hip, giving him a better angle to drive into her. It takes an embarrassingly short time for them to both fall apart.

Mac lifts her into his bed after, ignoring her half-hearted protests of needing to go back to her own bedchambers to sleep (he gives her a pointed look and the words die on her lips). Without any resistance at all, Merida snuggles herself down into the blankets of his bed, red curls fanned out on the pillow, and he sees the love bite on her neck that she absent-mindedly rubs at. The sight of her curled into his bed, body still flushed a rosy pink after being thoroughly tumbled, causes a wave of possessiveness to flash through his body. He knows, as well as he knows his own damn name, that they have no chance at being together, but gods what he wouldn’t do to change that fact.

\- - - -

She wishes, truly, that she could say she only had to deal with that one awful, gut curling kiss from Lord Domnall. Unfortunately, it happens so many more times, and each one is just as bad as the one before. Merida doesn’t know if it’s worse for her or for Mac, because while she’s gods uncomfortable every time it happens, Mac looks ready to fly off the handle.

The first time he watches his father presses his lips to Merida’s, Mac storms out of the mess hall and she doesn’t see him until the next day. For some reason, his reaction is a punch to the gut that makes her want to cry. Or apologize. She’s not sure. But she’s not sure about anything these days, and it’s the worst feeling in the world, not being able to trust herself.

The days steadily creep by and every time she winds up back in Mac’s arms, against both of their better judgements, it is another stab wound to the chest. They both realize that they can’t keep doing this. That finding comfort in each other is just going to make all of this hurt ten times worse than it already will. But gods be damned neither of them care and if these few weeks are all they have left together…

The thought hurts too much for either of them to contemplate.

\- - - -

It doesn’t seem real, the inevitable crash and burn. It’s not until one night, about two weeks before the agreed courtship is up, when Merida overhears Domnall mentioning their upcoming betrothal and how they’ll have to start planning for a wedding, that everything hits her. 

Suddenly the situation becomes real in this terrifying, breath stealing way that Merida is completely blindsided by. When she winds up in Mac’s room that night, trying to lose herself in the feel of him, he doesn’t let it happen. He can tell, damn him, and he doesn’t stop pestering until he has managed to drag every fear out of her heart one by one. 

For the first time that Merida can remember, she openly cries. No, that doesn’t even cover it. She ends up sobbing face down on his bed (she apologizes later with a shaking voice about the large wet spot on his blankets from her tears. He just calls her an idiot and hugs her). Her body wracking, heart wrenching sobs that hit him square in the gut, because Mac knows he can’t do anything about any of this and he feels so bloody _useless_. 

But he can be here, right now. Despite all the pain, he wouldn’t be anywhere else in the entire world than by her side. So he lets her cry and scream and yell herself hoarse, sitting next to her and rubbing a soothing hand up and down her back. Every anguished, broken sob kills him a little bit inside, and for a brief moment, he’s glad she’s buried her face in the blankets because his strength cracks and he sheds a few of his own tears. For himself. For her. For them and everything they’ll never get to be. 

\- - - -

Mac doesn’t ever let the words cross his tongue, but that night he takes Merida to bed and makes love to her. For the very first time, their coming together is slow and passionate and with every caress he’s trying to brand the word love onto her soul. When she looks in the mirror he wants her to see the imprint of his heart against her skin. Mac doesn’t want her to ever forget that he is hers, completely and without reserve. 

She gets anxious under his heavy, adamant attentions. It takes her a bit more time than she’d like to admit to recognize what he’s doing – that this is him, loving her completely and with everything he has, and when she does finally realize it, she goes through a moment of panic. Mac feels her go stiff in his arms, tells her over and over to relax, to stop thinking. So she does. 

Her body unwinds under his worshiping touch and she lets herself forget that this isn’t the man she’s going to be marrying. Hell, Merida even goes so far as to let her mind pretend that she can actually have Mac forever and ever, ‘till death do they part, and all of those silly, trite phrases.

Merida knows, no matter what happens, she will always have this night to look back on. She’ll know that yes, somebody loved her completely and totally, in a way that was bright enough to light the night sky. It’s something nobody can ever take from her.

She bitterly resigns herself to the fact that it might very well be the only night of love she’s going to get in her life. So in this, she is completely reckless and indulgent. Merida stays curled in Mac’s arms far longer than she should, because consequences be damned, if this is the only night of passion she is going to get, it’s going to be one hell of a night that only ends with the rising of the sun and not a second before. She lets him make love to her repeatedly, in all the ways she has dreamed about, and it is _everything_.

Though he doesn’t say the words, by the time she limps back to her room, sore but sated in the early morning glow of dawn, Merida knows that she’s been loved far beyond her wildest imaginings.

\- - - -

They’re less than a fortnight from when the betrothal is set to be made official. The council sees nothing wrong with the pairing, in fact, all they see are numerous positives, and one afternoon the nail in the metaphorical coffin is struck.

The thought upends her stomach to the point of being sick. Merida has trouble keeping anything down the closer they draw to ground zero. It’s a tiring ordeal and she has never been so exhausted in her entire life, and that goes for her emotional state as well. She feels run to the ground, trampled down, ready to sleep for days. Her emotional stability is questionable at best, and she’s a livewire. Everybody keeps her at arms’ length for their own safety.

Mac sullenly withdraws bit by bit, though Merida notices even if he’s at the peripheral, he’s always there, watching her with something akin to mute longing and the loyalty of a guard dog. The worst part is nobody seems to notice how miserable the two of them are. Sure, they know the Queen is stretched a bit thin, sees that the young lord looks a bit more subdued than normal, but nobody seems to recognize the signs of two hearts breaking. 

\- - - -

Everything crashes down around them in a spectacular fashion. And for once, Merida is very proud to admit that it absolutely _wasn’t_ her fault.

The hour is late, and despite the amount of ale that has been consumed, all the men at the table are still remarkably coherent. It’s mainly a collection of Macintosh men, celebrating and drinking to the health of Lord Domnall as everything falls in place to make his betrothal official. 

Mac is in a right awful mood, and he spend the majority of the evening either glaring into his tankard or at whatever idiotic person decides to ask him how he feels about the whole bloody situation. He can’t leave because it’s his Father, but he is completely truthful in admitting he would rather be anywhere else than drinking his Da off to marry the woman he loves. 

Merida had been around for a bit, but retreated to her chambers not too long into the evening. She looked terrible, pale and tired, and all Mac had wanted to do was pull her into his arms until everything vanished around them. They only make eye contact once, and the look in her eyes of being so broken flips his heart inside out. She manages to throw him a dead awful half-smile that causes him to frown, and not long after that she excuses herself to go sleep, and Mac is left to his own mind.

Mac loses track of the conversation because he could not care any less if he tried. But his ears pick up on Merida’s name coming from his Da’s mouth and he’s instantly at attention. “…Of course, I have my own heir, but succession for the throne needs to be considered. Merida will have to have a child at some point for that tae happen.” The men around him murmur in agreement and Domnall continues, his tone haughty and self-congratulatory, “Asides, I think it’s about time we got some Macintosh blood on the throne.” A small cheer erupts around the table and Mac’s ears are buzzing, brow furrowed and anger curling deep in his stomach.

“Wha’…?” He doesn’t realize he’s spoken until all eyes are on him, and his face flushes red. Lord Domnall chuckles good naturedly at his son, giving him a look of platitude.

“Son, yer a strong leader, but it’ll need to be Dun Broch blood as well as Macintosh for the throne.” And the idea of Merida having to carry his Father’s child breaks any last bit of restraint there might have been in his body. Mac is sure that he’s shaking with unchecked anger, ready to explode. 

He’s is on his feet, sword drawn, before he can think twice about it. His father’s humored expression vanishes and he pushes to his feet not a moment behind, giving his son a glare that’s laced with confusion. “What do ye think yer doin’ boy?”

Mac’s hand flexes around the hilt of his sword, and all eyes in the room are bouncing ping pong between father and son. “Not a chance in hell will she have yer child."

“And jus’ who do ye think ye are tae make such demands?” Mac chuckles, dry and without humor. The muscle in his jaw clenches and he works hard to remember that he really, really doesn’t want to run his Father through with a sword. 

“I think I’m the one with the sword. Ye’ll no’ touch her if I have anythin’ tae say about it.”

“Ye really think ye can stop me? Yer just a boy- “

“Aye, well I’m a boy who’s been fuckin’ the Queen senseless fer the last two months.” An uneasy murmur works through the room at his words. He meets his Father’s gaze dead on, giving Domnall a self-satisfied smirk. “I promise ye, if she has a Macintosh bairn it certainly won’t be yers.”

Noise erupts around the two men, neither willing to back down from their position. Domnall looks mad enough to breathe fire and Mac knows the wrong word from his Father and there’s a distinct possibility he’ll be hanged for murder. He probably won’t even deny the charges. 

“Yer lyin’ through yer teeth,”

Mac rolls his eyes, and with very determined steadiness, repeats the poem his Da wrote, word for word. The men in the room grow silent in confusion as Domnall flushes red up to his hair.

“How in the hell…?”

Mac walks around the table to where his Father stands, slowly and never breaking eye contact. “I’m afraid the Queen didnae hear yer pretty words, Da. She was quite thoroughly distracted, flushed head to toe and cryin’ out my name. And let me tell ye, tha’s somethin’ I won’t soon forget.” 

There’s an angry explosion of words echoing through the room but Mac doesn’t care about any of them, his anger reserved specifically for the man sputtering disbelief in front of his face. “How dare you –” 

Mac’s anger snaps because he can’t hear another damn word out of his Father’s mouth. It’s not necessarily a conscious decision, but the tip of his sword presses just above Domnall’s heart. Vaguely he can hear the sound of other swords being pulled around him, and his Da looks caught between panic, shock, and absolute fury, but he’s had enough. _“Stay. Away. From. Her._ Or I won’ hesitate tae run ye clean through.” He steps back, and his arm shakes with unspent energy as he sheathes his sword and storms out without a backwards glance.

Once he’s outside the room, he can breathe a little easier. He’s still shaking, and he can hear the cacophony of voices behind the door trying to figure out if he had been telling the truth or not. Mac flexes his hands, cramping from being clenched so tightly. The urgency to find Merida overtakes him as his sanity comes back, because _dear gods he fucked up_. He outted their relationship in the worst way possible. Threatened his father. Very, very publicly declared that he took the Queen’s virginity.

There is an entirely real chance that he’s going to be dead by the morning.

And the only thing that runs through his head is that he needs her.

\- - - -

For once he doesn’t care who sees him as he travels through the corridors, he’s completely focused on getting to her before anyone else can. The late hour provides him a good cover, and when he gets to her door, he doesn’t even bother knocking. He jams his shoulder against the bolt twice, listens to the lock click open and slips inside. 

Merida is asleep, curled tight and looking so peaceful that he’s taken breathless, and moves on shaking legs to the side of her bed, fingers brushing her curls gently. Mac sits next to her, content to watch her for just a moment despite the urgency of the situation. It could very well be the last time he’s ever able to see like this, and the thought wrenches at his chest. He watches as she stirs, looking at him with sleep clouded eyes, and he can see the confusion.

“Mac, what are ye doin’ here?”

He grabs her hands, pulling her to sit up and sees the grimace cross her face. He quirks an eyebrow in question at her and she gives a shake of her head, “No’ feelin’ well, wha’s wrong?”

He opens his mouth to try and get the story out but stops short, curling a hand along her forearm and pulling her in to a bruising kiss. He feels her heart stutter, and then she melts into arms, hands clinging to his shoulders as he brings their lips together over and over and over…he pulls away just as suddenly, leaning his forehead against hers, letting their breath dance together. “I’m sorry, Mer,”

“Sorry for what? I hope no’ for kissin’ me. If so yer goin’ to have to apologize for a lot more than that,” her voice is still colored with sleep and he can tell she’s a bit silly, but it makes him smile.

“No, never for that,” he presses a kiss to the tip of her nose, and looks into her eyes, brushing his thumbs along her cheekbones. What a marvel this woman is. The longer he stares, the more antsy she grows under her gaze, and then it turns to concern. 

“Mac, seriously, wha’s wrong? Yer worryin’ me now,” he sighs, ready to let the peace end.

“My Da knows. About us.” He watches what little color is in her face drain, and the sleepy smile turns to hard lines.

“Yer Da knows? _How in the hell did he find out?”_

“I told him,” his voice is quiet, ready for the explosion of anger to come because he’s just fucked everything up and he deserves her wrath. When the instant fury doesn’t come, he glances and sees her uneasy expression turn frantic. 

She pushes past him, launching herself out of bed, muttering something about being sick under her breath. He cringes in sympathy as she empties the contents of her stomach in an empty basin by the mirror hanging on her wall. He eases over to her, eyes drawn in concern, reaching out tentatively to place a hand at her back, rubbing soothing circles as she chokes and heaves. 

“Mer, are ye alright?” Her eyes smart with tears as she blindly reaches for a small glass with water, swishes a bit in her mouth and turns, pushing into his arms.

“Fine, Mac. What in the hell made ye think ta tell him?” There’s the anger he had initially been expecting. Her eyes are flashing and he can feel her shaking in his arms, but as angry as she is, and she is blazing with fury, she never moves to pull out of his arms.

“I just…Mer, I couldnae let him…I didn’ mean…I’m so, so sorry,” He can’t find the words to make her understand what came over him, the frenzied sense of…not necessarily having her be his, but more keeping her away from his father. When he looks at her, her eyes are shining with tears, and that hurts more than any battle wound he’s ever received. 

“What are we goin’ tae do?”

“I don’t know. Wish I did…”

“Are ye goin’ tae leave me?” Her voice is tight, he can hear the edge of panic and her hands, shaking, rest uneasily against his arms.

“Mer –” He watches the tears fall down her face, and it’s so out of character for her that he’s actually speechless. Her breathing starts coming hard and without stop, curls bouncing as she gives her head small shakes back and forth as she mutters to herself.

“Mac, please, please tell me yer no’ goin’ to leave. Gods, please,” She launches herself further into his body, arms wrapped tight about his waist, head buried in his chest and he can feel her entire body convulsing between her whispered pleas of, “ye can’t leave me, please don’…” 

It’s all Mac can do to wrap her in his arms, murmuring into her curls, soft promises of never leaving her side, protecting her forever, even though they both know such promises are probably empty. With every brush of his hands against her back he’s trying desperately to calm her down because she’s scaring him; he’s never seen her at this extreme edge of emotion.

Then everything goes from bad to worse. Mac hears the door slam open, and Merida’s still curled in his chest, crying her heart out. He turns just slightly, trying his best not to jostle her, and is unsurprised to see his father in the doorway, surrounded by at least half the council and Queen Elinor, who’s not even fully dressed – just a heavy dressing gown pulled over her nightdress. 

“I told ye, Yer Majesty! I knew the ungrateful little whelps would be-” Queen Elinor silences Domnall with a withering glare.

“I suggest ye keep yer mouth firmly shut, Lord Macintosh. I don’ care what the situation that woman is still yer Queen and ye’ll treat her with respect,” Elinor’s tone is no nonsense and Mac could kiss her feet for her words. Merida finally collects herself enough to realize how the situation looks, and instantly flames red. She tries to tug herself out of Mac’s arms but he holds her firm, and it’s only then she realizes she’s wearing nothing but her sheer, loose fitting shift with half of her council looking on.

Elinor reads her daughter’s mind and grabs a dressing gown, slung over the foot of the bed, throws it in Merida’s direction, and Merida tugs it on hastily.

She stands next to Mac, side by side, head bowed under her Mother’s knowing gaze and it’s like she’s a wee lassie again, being scolded for misbehaving. Elinor just sighs, tired.

“I don’ suppose there’s a chance Cothric misspoke when he told Lord Domnall that you two have been together, hmm?” Merida glances up at Mac, and for all the rage she sees burning in his eyes as he stares down his father, his gaze is completely unapologetic. She shakes her head no. 

“She doesn’ deny it at all! How long have ye been goin’ behind my back ye worthless – l” Mac shuts down the tirade with four steps and slamming his father against the wall, and he’s very, very close to killing him despite the staggering amount of witnesses in the room. It’s only Elinor’s quiet cough that shakes him out of his rage.

“Cothric, let yer father go,” Lady Elinor’s voice is exasperated but firm. Mac is pulled backwards by Merida’s hand, tugging at his shoulder. Her face is caught between amusement and her own welling anger as she shoots daggers at Lord Domnall, who glares steadily back. 

“Lord Domnall, I highly suggest ye keep yer trap shut. The next time ye speak against my daughter, I’m not goin’ to tell yer boy to stop.” 

“But, but Yer Majesty, yer daughter –”

“-Is twenty years yer junior, Dom, and a spitfire ta boot. Dear gods what were you expecting?” That seems to thoroughly shut him up, and Merida can’t help but smile at her Ma, who gives her a chiding look. “Alright, we’re not goin’ to get a bit o’ peace until we get this settled. Council chamber, twenty minutes. Not a moment late, ye hear?” Elinor gives a stern look to every person in the room, and they’re all instantly reminded that for all her size and stature, Queen Elinor is downright terrifying when she wants to be.

It’s a dismissal if ever there’s been one given, and Mac gives Merida an unsteady smile, watches her sigh out a long breath, and moves out of the room before anyone can stop him. The rest of the men trickle out, one by one, until it’s just Merida and Elinor left in the room. Merida doesn’t know what to say, shuffling her feet awkwardly, pulling at curls. Elinor just sighs.

“Oh, Mer,” the soft tone brings on a fresh wave of tears to Merida’s eyes and she stamps her foot, petulant like a two-year-old, brushing away the wetness from her cheeks.

“Damn it, I’m so tired of cryin’,” Elinor smiles, just a little bit, at her daughter’s emotional outburst and opens her arms. Merida throws herself into her Ma’s waiting embrace without hesitation. “I know I should be sorry, but I’m not,” is her strong, steady response, and Elinor actually laughs.

“I never expected ye would be sorry, my girl.” Merida gives a wet chuckle and slips out of the hug, wiping tears from her face with the edge of her dressing gown as Elinor stares with fondness at her oldest child. “Though I will say, ye’ve made a right mess o’ things,” Merida’s nose wrinkles because it’s not like she can deny it, and Elinor just sighs, wearied to the bone by the uphill battle she knows she’s about to fight. 

Bracing herself, Elinor squares her shoulders and moves across the room to the wardrobe in the corner, tugging it open and pulling out a soft green gown, throwing it in her daughter’s direction. “Ye best be gettin’ dressed. I’ve a feeling it’s goin’ to be a long night.” Merida nods, sullen, and Elinor watches the pain dance across her delicate features. It breaks her heart to see her baby girl – not so much a girl anymore– with decided heartbreak etched across her face. Lady Elinor moves back towards the door, she still needs to get changed herself and find tea before anything else can happen, but stops, turning back towards Merida one more time.

“Merida,” the words draw her daughter’s gaze upwards, and Elinor gives her a small smile. “I promise I’ll do my best to make this right, aye?” Merida nods once, a tiny grin appearing through the haze of tears.

\- - - -


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright folks, this is it! I hope you've...enjoyed...this bit of angst and pain. I promise this last bit is much, much nicer. You are all wonderful and thanks a billion for reading!

Elinor has to kick them both out less than ten minutes into the meeting. Mac and his Father cannot keep their tempers in check, and that just feeds Merida into a frenzy of burning hot anger. She is the first to admit that she is an utter mess in the entire situation, stomach flipping somersaults and knees knocking. So after the fourth time Merida has snapped at someone, Elinor quietly and firmly suggests that it might be best for her to take her leave. Even while emotional, Merida is able to see through her Ma’s words to recognize the crystal clear dismissal. She doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as she leaves. The realization that she’s leaving her fate in their hands sweeps over and she has never been more terrified about anything in her life. 

Her legs carry her just out of the room and she ends up in an ungraceful slump leaning against the wall. There’s no way she is going to be able to get a wink of sleep with all of this happening, and so Merida settles herself down onto the cold floor, trying to get comfortable but her entire body aches and she ends up restless.

Five minutes later Mac storms out of the chamber, and he wordlessly walks over to her, offers his hand and hauls her to her feet. She lets his hand trail down to hers, threading their fingers together, and he pulls her away from the meeting. They wind up on the east side of the castle, under a small arched entry way starring out at the inky black night sky, watching rain fall steady to beat a melody against the world. Merida tugs him over to a small bench and for a long time, it’s just them sitting in silence.

There’s a fine mist that hangs in the air. The only light is from a few wall sconces, flickering with the wind. Neither of them really know what to say, though they can feel a quiet urgency in the moment as it hangs between them.

But they don’t move. At least, not until Mac realizes that she’s shivering. He sighs, takes off his cloak and settles it around her shoulders. She startles for a minute, and then gives him a hesitant smile. Then it’s just…awkward. Merida tugs the cloak tighter around her, jittery and unsure what to do with this body that seems unable to function properly. Mac’s hand knot together, fidgeting, as he tries to give words to the thoughts that are spinning through his mind. 

Eventually, after who knows how long, they both seem to grow tired of their combined senselessness. Merida pulls at Mac’s hands until she can lace her fingers through his own and leans steadily against his shoulder. That little bit of contact calms her frayed nerves so much that she actually sighs in relief. But he isn’t content with that. He takes his free hand, runs it under her knees and moves her so that her legs rest over his and she can curl into his chest. Mac presses a kiss to her temple as she settles into the crook of his chin and he slips his arm beneath the cloak to wrap firmly around her waist.

She can hear the steady drumming beat of his heart in his chest, and his fingers rub soothing presses into her side and with all the stress and anxiety and heartache of the last few months, Merida finds herself exhausted. Mac hears her breathing even out, slow and steady, and realizes she’s drifted off to sleep. Which is well enough for him; she has stretched herself so thin that sometimes he fears just looking at her the wrong way is going to shatter her. It also gives him time to _think_. He certainly has enough to contemplate.

Merida doesn’t sleep long, though, certainly uncomfortable and cramped with the way she’s curled up, but she doesn’t find herself minding so much as she burrows further into the combined warmth of Mac’s skin and his cloak.

His voice quietly pulls her out of the sleepy, warmth induced haze of her mind. He whispers her name and she glances up at him, but he’s so serious that she can’t resist leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. He pulls back with a heavy groan, shaking his head, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are ye sorry, Mac?” She watches with interest as the internal struggle plays out on his face and she can see him grappling with words and emotions.

“I’m sorry about how all of this happened. I wish…we could’ve found a different way…” his words trail off and Merida can figure out the ending without actually having him say it.

“Aye. Me too.”

They sit in a heavy silence for a few moments as something that feels a bit too much like regret settles over them. “But ye have to know I’m not sorry about us.” Merida chuckles at the raging vehemence in his tone and she presses a kiss to his chest, feeling his heart skip.

“Just as well, I’d have to kick yer arse if ye were.” He laughs at her teasing words, though he never once doubts that they’re true. She would actually hurt him if this whole thing had turned out to be some ploy. 

“Mer?” she hums sleepily against his skin, warm and content for just a few moments. She’s entirely surprised when he hooks a finger under her chin, pulling her gaze upward. “I love you.” 

Her heart pounds wildly and suddenly her mouth is filled with cotton, dry and scratchy and unable to make sounds. Because yes, _she knows_ he loves her. She’s known (or at least suspected) it for a while now. She can feel it every time he looks at her. Every time his lips brush hers, it’s a singular fact that is undisputable. But that doesn’t make hearing the words any less terrifying. Or thrilling. 

With all honesty, she had expected him to be nervous in admission. But one look at his face and she realizes that he doesn’t expect a response, he just needs her to know, totally and completely, that she is loved. And that is what breaks her. Merida feels her eyes water and really, she is so goddamn tired of crying, but at least these tears are peaceful, happy, if not laced with a small twinge of nervousness, because she doesn’t want to lose this love she’s managed to find in the most peculiar way. Mac wraps her up just a bit tighter at the sight of her unshed tears, feels her shaking from something else other than cold.

It takes a few minutes for her to settle her wild heart. He can feel her shaking body calm, feel the tension drain out of her slowly. What he doesn’t expect is to hear her muffled, “I love you too,” soft but strong, whispered into his skin.

“Mer, ye don’ have tae say it just because –” She cuts off his words with a searing kiss, hands wrapped firmly around his neck.

“I know.”

They don’t speak much more after that. For the time being, they are content to just be with each other, relish in the heat and comfort of being loved completely by another heart.

\- - - -

Elinor finds the two of them sitting on a cobbled bench under an archway on the outer castle walls. She’s been hunting for them for the better part of half an hour. Combined with the fact that she is tired and cross and has spent at least two hours talking down a council consisting of idiots, morons and hard-headed men, she did not want to add a wild goose chase to her evenings activities. She has mind to yell at them both, but she winds up frozen in her wearied paces when she spots them.

The first thing she notices is that they both look so, so young. They are completely entangled with each other, and in the pale glow of almost light, it’s difficult to tell where one of them begins and the other ends. Mac is so wrapped around her daughter, physically and mentally and she would wager emotionally as well, that he looks like a stone statue, built for the sole purpose of keeping Merida safe. 

Elinor can’t actually hear what they’re saying, but their traded quiet whispers in the early morning hours seem more like broken fragments of their hearts being offered as sacrifice to the dawn. Maybe it’s the light drizzle that falls just beyond the wall, maybe it’s the bit of sky trying to break across a seemingly endless sea of clouds, or even the fading torch light playing across their features, but suddenly all she can see are two young souls trying to bear the weight of a hard, unforgiving world, stumblingly blindly. She no longer sees a Queen and a future ruling lord; those monumental people have disappeared and left in their wake are simply two hearts drawn together.

She clears her throat, and they both stutter to their feet. Merida shrugs off Mac’s heavy cloak, blindly thrusting it backwards into his arms as she takes a few steps forward on uneasy legs.

“Mum.” The word is a complete sentence, and in it Elinor can hear a question and a plea and desperate tears and months of emotion all poured into the space of a syllable. Mac stands just a few feet behind his Queen, and Elinor has to smile because they match, from trembling legs to tight lips, right down to their wringing hands and terrified souls. It’s amusing, if not a bit heart breaking.

“The council is still convinced that ye need to get married,” which Elinor thinks is entirely wrong, her daughter has done a brilliant job on her own these last few months, especially considering all the added stress. She watches as Merida’s face turns to stone and realizes that she is preparing herself for the worst possible situation, ready to face whatever answer she is given with unshakable resilience because this is beyond her personal happiness. But there are cracks in the stone and Elinor can see the ache seeping through. Behind her, Mac looks equally resigned and no less upset.

Merida’s heart thumps wildly in her chest, and it feels like she has run the entire perimeter of the castle, without stop, numerous times. She closes her eyes against her Mother’s words, swallows hard around the lump in her throat and pleads with herself to let the tears fall in private. But Merida watches as the small smile grows on Elinor’s face through the exhaustion of a draining evening, and is given pause. 

“They agreed that ye need someone to help you and I’ll confess I didnae necessarily disagree with ‘em. No’ because yer incapable, but because…ruling is hard, Mer. It’s unforgiving and thankless at times and made infinitely more bearable by havin’ someone to share the burden with.” Merida nods once, slowly, because while she may not like that answer, she has to see the truth in it. She’s _always_ been able to see the truth in it. She spent years watching her Mum and Da rule, she knows how much they depended on each other. 

“Cothric?” Mac’s head shoots up to meet Queen Elinor’s smiling gaze and he has to stop himself from hoping too much as the smile on her face continues to grow.

“Aye, Yer Majesty?”

“Think yer up to the challenge?” Elinor watches their faces change, and it takes about a minute as dawning realization overtakes their features, hesitancy fading to shock which winds up looking a whole lot like both of them wearing identical, silly grins. 

“Ye mean…?” It’s Merida who breaks the heavy silence, and she sucks in another breath, praying with everything she has that she isn’t misunderstanding her Ma’s words. “Ye mean we can get married?”

Elinor nods with a smile, “Aye, preferably sooner rather than later, afore the council has a chance to change their minds.” Mac watches as Merida throws herself at her Mum, bubbling laughter mixing with tears, leaving her words a garbled mess as she mumbles things into Lady Elinor’s shoulder. He realizes he isn’t fairing much better, legs shaking and chest constricting tightly around his heart as wave after wave of relief sinks through his body. Interestingly, he sees Lady Elinor take Merida by the shoulders and whisper something into her daughter’s ear that leaves Merida an unflattering shade of red as she gives a tiny nod. 

Before he can give it much more thought, Merida is pressing herself into his arms, head resting against his chest as she breathes long and hard and deep and all he can do is wrap himself around her. For a moment they’re not sure who’s supporting who anymore – they’re both so damn exhausted in every single meaning of the word – and suddenly the entire world rights itself after months of being at odds. 

“Merida,” Elinor’s voice pulls them out of their bubble, and they turn in tandem to look at her. “Go get some sleep. The both of you. I’ll make sure nobody disturbs ye,” and with that Elinor leaves the two to themselves. 

From one second to the next they’re drained of energy and it takes every single ounce of remaining will power they have left to stumble hand in hand to Merida’s bedchamber. They make it through the door, and Mac, thank gods, has sense enough to throw the lock. She can’t see straight, nearly walks into the end of her bed, and it is only because of Mac’s steady hands guiding her that she doesn’t end up falling asleep on the floor. He pulls her to him, working her gown off of her and then her shift, pressing soft kisses to her cheeks and nose. She’s too tired to protest when he sweeps her into his arms and settles her into the bed. Sleep takes her before her head hits the pillow.

\- - - -

Merida is dazed when she finally wakes up. It’s too light in her room, she never sleeps this late, and for some reason her body is humming. There’s a peculiar warmth that wraps around her chest and spirals low into her stomach, causes her toes to curl into the cool sheets of the bed. Her brain is fuzzy, and it takes her a few deep, sleepy breaths to realize that Mac is kissing his way down her body. It’s not at all unpleasant, his mouth and hands move at a languid pace, caressing her bare body and all she can do is lay there, completely at his mercy. 

He slides his mouth over her breast, sucking the tight bud of her nipple into warm heat, swirling his tongue and nipping hard as she arches farther into him with a breathy moan. One of his hands slides down her body, sure and steady, until it reaches the juncture of her thighs and his fingers, thick and strong and demanding, glide easily through the folds of her sex, already wet with arousal. She’s not nearly in her own mind, far too lost in the feel of his mouth suckling her and his fingers teasingly coiling her tighter. Mac moves himself slowly down her body, kissing every single patch of skin he comes into contact with, reverent and worshipping. His hands fall to the generous swell of her hips, caressing the soft flesh pulled taught over bony juncture.

His mouth settles between her thighs, tongue running along every inch of her. She can’t stop her hips from jerking upwards as his tongue slips inside her body, and she cries his name like it’s being ripped from her chest. Mac’s grip on her hips tightens to the point of leaving bruises at her utterance of his name, and he redoubles his efforts. 

Her body is wound too tight, and she is going to fall apart, shatter completely, if he doesn’t stop. She whispers his name, reaches to thread her hands through his hair, and tugs his gaze up to her face. Mac can see the desire, no, need, written across her face plain as day. He kisses his way back up her body until he can press his lips to hers, run his tongue along the already parted seam of her mouth. Merida can actually taste the salt and tang of her own arousal on his lips as his tongue sweeps through her mouth, and it leaves her breathless. It’s as erotic as anything she’s ever experienced and something bright and burning sweeps through her veins at the look in his eyes – lust blown and wanting and so full of love she can feel tears unwillingly pool at the corners of her eyes. His hands run back down to her hips she can feel the tip of him pressing ever so slightly into her waiting heat. 

He chuckles as she tries to grind her hips down farther, but right now she is both physically and mentally at his mercy and all she can do is pant and pull at his body as he kisses her over and over and over until she is boneless and gasping in his arms. “Mac, please,” he can hear the tight edge and desperation in her voice, can feel her trembling everywhere from head to toe. 

“Open yer eyes,” it takes a monumental effort, but when she can finally meet his gaze, it steals her breath. Not nearly so much as when he reaches for her hand, lacing their fingers together, and breathes on a single exhale, “I love you,” and gives a hard thrust into her.

His thrusts are steady and unforgiving, but also incredibly slow and unhurried, because for the first time they both know, with bone deep conviction, that this will not be the last time for them. There’s no edge of fear that makes them desperate, and suddenly their relationship feels solid as a rock. They cling to each other not because they’re afraid of being torn apart but because they know they’ll never have to let go.

Mac pulls her legs to wrap around his waist and they move together in deep, heavy thrusts, hips meeting hips with force enough to reach them both in their souls. He pins their hands, fingers still laced together, above her head so she is stretched long and lean beneath him and runs his mouth along the line of her neck, scraping teeth against the sensitive skin until Merida feels like she’s floating out of her body, keening and arching into him. 

She can feel the tension pulling at every muscle in her body and knows instantly the swirling, dancing, diving feeling in her gut that tells her she’s right there. He’s right alongside her, his thrusts turning erratic and losing their steady control. Mac reaches between them, finding that little bundle of nerves with ease, and works her with frenzy until he can feel the muscles of her body tighten and pulse hard around his cock as she arches and comes shattering to completion, sobbing his name. He isn’t far behind, her name a plea and a cry drawn heavy from his chest. 

\- - - -

She’s curled steady in his arms, blissfully floating back to her body as his hands dance soothing patterns up and down her bare back. As she floats hazily, listening to the steady drumming of Mac’s heartbeat under her ear, her Mum’s words from earlier crash down around her. Mac feels her go stiff in his arms and glances down at her, worried.

“Mer? Wha’s wrong?” She flips herself out of his embrace, rolling to her back and throwing an arm over her eyes. When she glances over toward him, he’s propped up one elbow, starring down at her with something between anxiousness and amusement playing over his strong features. He quirks an eyebrow at her and she groans.

“Was jus’ remembering what Ma said tae me earlier.”

“Oh? Care to share?” Merida can feel herself flush red, probably all the way down to her toes.

“Aye, she, um, reminded me that there was another reason we best be gettin’ married quickly.”

“And why’s that?” She looks up, meeting his gaze and he can see the hesitancy and nerves written across her face plain as day. His intrigue grows as she inhales deep, eyes screwed shut tight, and he can see her mentally bracing herself. When her nervous eyes finally are able to meet his again, she licks her lips, worrying her bottom lip softly between teeth. She reaches for his free hand and slides it low to her belly and he’s confused for a moment until…

“We should probably be married before I start showin’…” It takes his mind a few slow seconds to realize what she’s getting at and Merida watches the confusion click over to realization. She holds her breath. 

“Mer…yer…?” His loss for words makes her entire body go rigid and uneasy. She has no idea how he’s going to react to this news. So she nods, hesitantly and slowly. 

“Aye. No’ quite sure how far along I am but…” She shrugs, unable to finish the sentence under his shocked gaze. 

“But…how?” Merida snorts, giving him a wide eyed, dubious expression.

“Mac, if I have tae explain that bit to ye, gods help me –” He laughs, rolls his eyes good naturedly and runs a hand gently along her cheek.

“I know how, thank you very much. But _how_?” 

“I wasnae exactly emotionally stable as ye know and I may’ve…forgotten…a few preventative measures…” which is the biggest understatement ever, because she was actually a complete wreck, and honestly drinking her nightly tea was the last thing on her mind, but she’ll let that bit go for right now.

“Bloody hell, lass, I’m goin’ tae be a father?” Merida winces slightly at the edge in his words and nods slowly, pain creeping across her face and into her heart.

“Aye I’m…I’m sorry,” but before she can blink Mac has captured her mouth in his own and he lays himself out between her spread thighs, kissing her with everything he has. When he pulls away his eyes are bright and shining and she chokes on the air in her lungs when she realizes those are tears.

“Merida don’ ever, ever be sorry about this.” His words are fierce and Merida feels tears forming in her own eyes at the sudden wave of relief and happiness that spreads through her body. 

“So yer ok with this then?” Mac snorts out a laugh because that is definitely the mildest way of putting it. He’s shocked, yes, speechless, but completely and totally in awe. He was convinced not a week ago he was going to have to stand aside and watch from afar as she had this moment with an entirely different man. But no, _his_ Merida…beautiful, wonderful woman that she is, is carrying _his_ child and he never even dared to hope, not in his wildest dreamings, that this might be his life.

“Aye, more than ok. I’m a little shocked but, gods, I love you.” He pulls her into another kiss, long and languid and he can feel the tears sliding down her face. A thought springs into Mac’s head causing a burst of laughter. 

Merida’s words are wet and heavy with emotion, but a shade past amused, “And wha’ exactly is so funny?”

“Is nothin’ I just…last night I told my Da if ye were tae have a bairn with Macintosh blood it sure as hell wouldnae be his. Guess I was more right than I knew.” He leans back on his knees, straddling her waist as his hands slide down to her still flat midriff. If he closes his eyes, he can see the way her stomach will swell over the coming months, the new curves her body will take on as she carries his child and dear gods that carnal, possessive thought flairs hot through his body.

Mac spends the better part of the next hour leisurely, sensually, with every bit of patience he has, making love to her. He leaves no inch of flesh unkissed, unworshipped and he works her into a steady, breathless frenzy by slow degrees until she is hoarse and whispering his name, begging, arching into his arms. He finally slides into her warm, wet flesh and they both feel an overwhelming sense of home. Mac shatters her body with lips and teeth and tongue and strong, powerful thrusts and then rebuilds her from the ashes with sure and steady hands.

And after, as she lays wrapped up in a blanket and his arms, dozing off to the rhythm of his breathing he makes a silent promise to her – his future wife, mother of his child, hopefully children someday – as well as to that brilliant life they’ve created together. He promises with his whole heart, every fiber of his being, that he will be a better father than his own. 

\- - - -


End file.
